


Not to Say

by lurrel



Category: Luther (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurrel/pseuds/lurrel
Summary: John Luther’s daemon is the stuff of lunchtime goss and water cooler appraisals. She’s big, maybe not quite as huge as a natural born jaguar, not that there are many left. She’s probably the biggest she can be and still live in a city as dense as London -- any more mass and taking the Tube would be impossible. On her hind legs she’s bigger than a man, 250 kgs of rippling muscle and dark fur with darker spots. Luther and Ripley's daemons get close.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mautadite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/gifts).



Justin Ripley is led by his neck in a noose, Cameron Pell’s daemon snapping its beak in his face every so often. Ripley’s handcuffed, bleeding from a head wound already after Pell clubbed him to subdue him, but he’s having trouble concentrating on anything but breathing and how horrible it is that Pell’s holding his daemon under his arm.

Pell’s _touching_ Watson, and the whippet is trying his best to get free but it’s too much, everything overwhelming and weird. Watson’s tied up first, and then Pell loops the rope around Ripley’s neck over a pipe, giving him just enough slack to not suffocate if he’s on his toes.

“Shut her up!” Pell yells, and Ripley can barely move enough to even look at his daemon. He wants to hold him, cradle the dog in his arms; he needs to get out.

“Watson,” he manages to croak and the dog whines at him, his claws clacking against the concrete, but he stops barking. 

Watson starts again when Ripley starts screaming, howling when the super-heated metal sears his skin, a chorus for DCI Luther and all his other colleagues to hear over the tinny speakers in the office. Watson barks until Pell kicks him, which makes Ripley choke even harder.

Pell laughs.

\--

There’s a window of time where Ripley thinks he could be getting rescued, but after the phone calls he thinks that maybe Luther is trusting him to save himself.

He’s weirdly touched that Luther thinks of him so highly, before he remembers that means he has to, you know, somehow get himself free.

\--

Justin stands on shaky legs when John Luther’s car pulls up, almost comical with his daemon, Gwenllian, in the front, her powerful body crammed in a seat made for a medium-sized man. She’s a jaguar with melanism, what would be called a black panther in the Americas, and she leaps out of the car even quicker than John.

John pulls him close but it’s less warm than the ghost sensations of his jaguar resting a paw on Justin’s Watson, licking the blood from his fur. He shivers when John lets him go, and follows him, follows him, follows him, as he brings him up to speed on Pell. There’s a laptop and Ripley uses it. He’s used to ignoring the pull in his gut that Luther brings about, and this is no different.

He feels the fear ebb slowly with every soft murmur from Gwenllian, even while Luther stares at the laptop, completely unphased by the intimacy near them. He ignores the deep rumbles in Gwen’s chest and the soft whine of Watson, so Justin tries to, too.

Justin works, because that’s what’s useful to John. That’s what makes him useful. Justin survived, because he knew John expected it, and he’ll do this, too.

\--

When it’s all over, their daemons sit pressed together as he and John and Grey go over the scene. Justin’s bright eyed, feverish without the adrenaline, wounds already going from dulled by shock to the sharp heat of infection.

“Let’s get you to the hospital, then,” Luther says, pushing him toward an ambulance that’s not full of children and their daemons, popping into one restless shape to another, a cacophony of concerned howls happening all around them. Justin’s not sure he merits one of his very own, but he can’t say he minds the quiet once he’s in it, a shock blanket around his shoulders.

Gwenllian and Watson are chatting softly as they come up to join them, Gwen slinking slowly so Watson doesn’t have to run. She stares at Justin as she nudges Watson up to sit with him, between his legs as an EMT tugs up on John’s sweater, now soaked in blood and stuck to Justin’s burns.

“Be well,” she says, and John shrugs, an implicit agreement. 

“Ta,” Ripley says and he realizes he’s shaking, everything surging up at once, and Watson bites his hand gently, presses against his leg, exists, is his.

\--

John Luther’s daemon is the stuff of lunchtime goss and water cooler appraisals. She’s big, maybe not quite as huge as a natural born jaguar, not that there are many left. She’s probably the biggest she can be and still live in a city as dense as London -- any more mass and taking the Tube would be impossible. On her hind legs she’s bigger than a man, 250 kgs of rippling muscle and dark fur with darker spots. At night she’s barely a flash of eyes, unafraid to use that strength to take down a threat. 

Watson, too, has bitten more than one suspect, but it's never felt as transgressive as what Pell did, grabbing him, hurting him.

Justin Ripley looks most like his dad, but he’s got the shape of his mother’s daemon, the one who named Watson, a bulldog with stocky shoulders and narrow hips. But his own daemon is a whippet, sleek and strong and good at slipping into places unnoticed. In fact, it normally takes guys in bars a few once overs to notice them at all, to notice Watson’s male, that Justin’s smiling. They’re average, unremarkable in a way that makes him good backup for Luther and good police in general. Plus, the department already had dog-sized vests made -- Gwen needs everything made custom. 

In the beginning of their partnership, Gwenllian doesn’t pay attention to much besides Luther, not until Justin slams the sniper out of the way, screaming for John to run. Since then, he catches her whispering with Watson in the office.

John never mentions it, so Justin doesn’t either, but he can’t keep the blush from spreading across his face when Gwenllian touches Watson softly, a huge paw gentle against his ribs. Watson only gets touched in fights these days. It’s not polite on a first date, and Justin doesn’t have a great track record of second dates.

Watson never mentions it, but Justin knows what the flutter in his chest feels like the first time Gwenllian reaches out.

\--

It doesn’t take long to get stitched up and cleaned. Justin plans on taking a cab home from the hospital, but Luther’s there to pick him up. 

“Feeling better, mate?” he asks as Justin fidgets in the sweatpants from his go-bag, dropped off by DS Erin Grey, who couldn’t stay to chat. 

“Feeling tired, boss,” he says, because he does. The burns and cuts throb under their wrappings, and his head is pounding.

“You got someone to help you out tonight? Boyfriend at home?”

Justin scratches behind Watson’s ears, feeling him tense. “No one, sir.”

“You could stay with us for an night,” Gwen says and Luther coughs, rather pointedly. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Ripley says, in part because doesn’t. Watson’s tail wags, though, and Luther says, “You wouldn’t be, believe me.”

Justin thinks about how his head hurts, how much it’s going to suck to lift his arms to pull his shirt off, thinks about how he’ll have to buy some gauze and how Luther probably has medical supplies to spare in his cupboard.

“Sure,” he says, and he nods off in the car.

\--

Justin needs some support on his way inside, and Luther’s arm is sturdy under his. Watson can’t walk straight, either, loopy from the pain meds, and Gwen picks him up by his scruff for the last hallway to Luther’s flat.

Gwenllian makes the whole flat look possibly more shabby than it is, wallpaper curled and peeling off the walls and charity shop furniture surrounding so regal an animal. Luther makes a beeline for the couch and deposits Justin almost gently there, handing him a blanket and dropping his go bag on the floor. Gwen leaves Watson on the cushion next to him, and Watson lays his head in Justin’s lap.

“I’ll be waking you up every few hours or so, checking on a concussion,” Luther says.

Watson whimpers. 

“Oh, and I’ll be kipping it out here. I have a houseguest. You’ll...tolerate her, I’m sure. But she’s sleeping on the bed right now.”

“I would be if you all weren’t so bloody loud!” calls a voice, what sounds like a teen girl. A parrot squawks as punctuation and Justin laughs.

“That’s what you’ve been keeping in your flat, boss?”

Luther looks uncomfortable. “I don’t go _looking_ for strays,” he says.

Justin yawns, stretching himself out on the couch. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.” 

\--

Justin sleeps dreamlessly for a few hours, gets woken by Luther, and then sleeps again. It’s not til the third sleep that he feels trapped, wrapped up in something and choking. 

Watson won’t stop barking and Justin can’t breathe, 

“Oi, Justin,” Luther says, has been saying for a while now, it seems. “Wake up!”

Justin reaches out and feels fur, feels right, and the expansion of Watson’s ribs is so comforting under his hands. 

“I’m here,” Watson says, voice low, and he sighs, rubbing his shoulder, his neck, his skull.

“I’m awake,” Justin says, and Watson’s weight on his chest hurts but he needs it, too. He squints up at Luther, who looks strange in just a t-shirt and shorts. Gwen’s face is absurdly close to him.

“Wait,” Gwen says, “did that man --”

She can’t finish and Watson’s hackles go tight. No one dares touch a daemon like her, and no one could ever manhandle her. People don’t go out of their way to get near her or John Luther.

It’s not that Justin has ever felt particularly vulnerable, but doesn’t want to be reminded of that shivering wrongness, that tinfoil-in-the-teeth feeling when Pell grabbed Watson and tied him up, just far enough away for it to tug. Justin’s done all the Academy drills -- the only way they could get any further away’d by learning Witch secrets -- and it still hurt, twisting in his gut.

John frowns, deep, like he hadn’t profiled the man as being as poorly socialized as all that. There’s sociopaths and then there’s _sociopaths,_ people who shot at daemons first, who kidnap based on daemon forms, who fixate on them. Pell didn’t strike either of them as the type.

“We’re fine now,” Watson says, and Justin nods, two sets of unblinking eyes weighing him down.

“Alright,” John says, and he buries his fingers in Gwen’s rich fur. “You feeling okay?”

Justin isn’t. The panic of the nightmare ebbing away leaves him to notice that he’s sweaty with fever, can feel the heat of one of his burns straight thru the dressing and his undershirt.

“It’s fine,” Justin says. “We’re fine.”

Watson woofs, breath hot against Justin’s arm. “He needs his meds.”

It’s morning enough, so John feeds him antibiotics and painkillers and starts cooking eggs. The smell of food lures his houseguest out of the bedroom.

“I’m Jenny,” she says, and he parrot squawks. “That’s Zephyr. Are you another stray Luther’s taken in?”

“No,” Justin says, laughing, right as Watson says, “yes.”

He ends up helping her with her resume, sitting together on the couch as she eats toast.

“You’re very good at stretchin’ the truth,” she says, impressed, and Watson woofs a laugh.

Jenny’s daemon is a brilliant male macaw, the brightest pop of color in the flat barring her eyeshadow. He lets her do most of the talking, content to sit on her shoulder and watch. 

“Ain’t you got anyone else to look after you?” she asks, looking dubiously at the eggs Luther serves her.

“Not really,” Justin says. His family’s in Cheshire, and he doesn’t like when they worry. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Watson nudges his hand. “You need to rest,” he says.

“Yer boy is right,” Jenny says, and Watson’s tail starts wagging.

“I have to say I agree,” Luther says, and Justin ends up wrapped on the couch soon enough, jittery and exhausted from walking to the kitchen and back.

“Go to sleep,” Gwen says, and he watches her tail flick back and forth until he does. 

\--

“I should go home,” Justin says after his fever breaks in the evening. He’s watching the slow rise and fall of Gwen breathing, one paw resting up against Watson. They’re curled up in the corner.

“They seem cozy enough to me,” Jenny says, eating a bowl of soup in the kitchen and watching the living room TV. He realizes he hasn’t seen Gwen even flick an ear at the bird, though she’s spoken to Jenny a few times. He wasn’t -- he didn’t know it was just -- he never realized.

Watson never told him.

“Yeah, well, Gwen likes to sleep in,” Luther says, and he hands Justin his own bowl of soup.

Justin ends up falling asleep against him, the TV droning in front of them.

\--

“Your girl is besotted with him,” Jenny says, and Justin is so certain that Luther knows he’s awake that he stops breathing for a second. Watson’s breathing stays even, and Justin knows he’s dreaming but doesn’t know his dreams. They were never good at sleep.

“Gwen has a sentimental heart.”

“And you’re made of stone in comparison? C’mon, guv, that’s not how it works.” Justin hears her parrot clack his beak but he doesn’t squawk -- considerate, that, to keep from waking him up.

“Justin,” Luther says firmly, “is not the type of person who needs me mucking up their life.”

There’s a rumble, that’s Gwen. Justin’s seen it -- Gwen bumping her great head against his thick thigh, Luther absentmindedly soothing her. But she rumbles again.

“John,” she says, “likes to wait until it’s too late. I’m sick of being beholden to his mistakes.”

Luther coughs, stands up abruptly, chair squeaking. “Right, then.”

Justin carefully sits up, his ribs aching, and he coughs to let the room know he’s awake anyway. Luther’s flat is a shithole with thin walls but he wants to be considerate.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about leaving so soon,” Gwen says, stalking into the living room. Luther looks pained.

Watson whimpers, kicks out in his sleep, and Justin rubs his flank until that last veil of sleep lifts and Watson wakes as well. The panic rising in his nerves lets him know it was time for Watson to get up anyway, before they had another full blown nightmare.

“It’s alright, boy,” Justin says, and Watson curls tight in his lap.

“You should stay until you feel better,” Gwen says, and her teeth are very sharp. She and Luther look handsome together, but where his shoulders roll into a hunch, she stands tall, powerful. 

Watson yips and the daemons hold a whole silent conversation in blinks and ear flicks. _Luther’s daemon, a mind of her own, shows that he’s really cracking up, eh mate?_ he can hear Erin Grey saying.

“I think I can handle myself -- if the fever comes back I can always ring up my sister back home to come for a few days.” Justin doesn’t want to get used to this and he sees the tension in Luther -- could see it even through the fever.

“I think,” Gwen says slowly, stepping closer, “you should stay. At least one more day.”

She’s so close that she can probably hear his heart thudding, which means Luther knows how nervous he is.

Gwenllian lifts a paw and it lands on his knee, and Justin doesn’t know what to do so he doesn’t do anything, freezes, stock still at the feeling of the pads of her hand, the sharp threat inherent in her form and her claws, the way Luther looks like he’s being choked by his own tie even as he loosens the knot from his throat.

Justin shakes, feels like the fever is back, like his body is nothing but nerves and heat.

“ - “ he says, mouth open, and that’s when Luther snaps, strides in and grabs the scruff on her neck to pull her back.

“That’s enough, then.” 

Gwen snarls and John snarls back, and they disappear out the door, a tableau of predators

There’s a loud squawk from the kitchen after the door slams.

“I ain’t never seen anything like that in my life,” Jenny says, and Justin would agree if he could only find words.

\--

Justin goes home before Luther returns, despite Watson whining deep in his throat. 

“You’ll see them again,” Justin says, “but you two, I can’t think like that.”

“What’s there to think about?” Watson asks, nipping at his pants as they slip into his own flat.

He wonders if Watson would ever snarl at him, if he’s ever been this divided.

“He’s my boss, Watson.”

Luther’s kettle was terrible, and Justin’s couch is more comfortable, but even being wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea doesn’t make Justin feel better or warmer than when Watson and Gwen curled together half-asleep.

“You’re lonely,” Watson says primly. He’s laying on the ottoman, staring reproachfully.

Justin almost says, “I’m not,” but instead says, “that doesn’t make this a good idea.”

Watson shrugs a dog shrug at him. “You’re so careful.”

“You want to risk the job?”

“You mean again? Luther was worth it before.” 

“Don’t play me like this,” Justin says, feeling ridiculous, and Watson relents, climbs onto the couch and lays his head in Justin’s lap, a familiar weight.

“I’ve -- we’ve worked too hard for this,” Justin says as his fingers find Watson’s favorite spots to get scratched. He thinks about the scar, the brand on his body that says John Luther believed in me, John Luther knows I’ll survive.

“We’re fucked,” Watson says, snuffling out a sigh.

“I know, mate.”

\--

“I’m fucked,” John Luther says. Alice has lured him to a roof, locked up tight but with an impressive view. She’s got her legs dangling over the edge and her red panda daemon is wrapped around her neck, almost but not quite the same shiny red as her hair.

“Oh, John, don’t be so melodramatic,” she says. 

Gwen snorts, agreeing. She’s wary of Alice, recognizes the predator inside her, the same snarling fangs in her mouth. But Alice is so often right.

Alice is a liar but she doesn’t want to see them suffer.

“This one,” John says, cocking his head at Gwen, “this one got it in her head to touch DS Ripley, while he was convalescing in our flat.”

Alice makes a pleased sound. “Is that your puppy? Do you have a crush, John?”

“Gwen has a crush,” John snaps, and she laughs.

Then she turns serious. 

“Don’t let the job do this to you again,” she says, stroking a hand down her daemon’s tail. 

“It’s not the job,” he says, but he wishes it was.

“I’ve never known you to let being _scared_ keep you from doing something, especially something ill-advised.”

“She’s got you pegged,” Gwen says, ears flicking back, and Luther runs a palm over his face.

“The boy’s already yours,” Alice says, and that’s really what makes Luther worried. "You won't be around forever."

“He’s not,” Luther insists. “I trust him, I don’t own him.”

Alice kicks her feet over the city. “Just like you don’t like me.”

John rubs his daemon’s head, broad fingers disappearing into black fur, and decides not to reply.

\--

They don’t talk about it. 

Gwenllian sends her own person dubious looks when they work cases, whispers into Watson’s ear with a renewed vigor, and every so often Justin will catch her yellow eyes on him.

Watson is mostly smug, and a pain to go out with. Justin’s normally charming enough at bars, but that depends on Watson making a joke at the right time, being engaged and charming himself. 

Justin strikes out more than usual, Watson laying under his barstool deeply uninterested in talking to anyone. 

\--

Luther smells like petrol and Justin wildly thinks for a second that any stray cigarette or candle could take him out, even with the twin already dead. 

Luther isn't safe but Luther is real, heavy and wet and laughing when Justin grabs him, more violence than hug. 

Gwen is stalking back and forth, snarling at the coppers around them, and Watson finally butts his head under hers. 

“You’re mad,” Justin says for what feels like the eightieth time. “You’re mad, what were you even thinking.” 

“It was exceedingly ill-advised,” Gwenllian rumbles and John grasps his arm, gives him a serious look. 

“I appreciate,” he says, “your belief in my methods.”

Justin wants to laugh, feels it in his chest, but he grabs him back, arms solid under his hands.

\--

John Luther must have showered, but the petrol smell is there when he crowds the doorway to Justin’s flat.

“I’ve always liked your place,” he says as he moves directly into Justin’s space. Their daemons are already brushing against each other, giving Justin goosebumps.

“What’s up, boss?” Justin asks and Luther walks him back into the living room. He knows how to use his full height and breadth, and while Justin doesn’t feel as dwarfed these days, he’s suddenly struck by the size of him, the size of Gwen.

“Is there a case?” he asks, even though he knows there isn’t. Luther grabs his shoulders, stopping them in front of Justin’s couch.

“I’m certain there’s a case heading toward us now,” he says, “but before the next spate of murders manages to find us, though, I needed to come by and give you this.” 

Luther moves like his daemon, perfectly assured, as he leans down and kisses him.

Watson whines and Gwen rumbles, sounds he can hear dimly under the sudden crash of white noise in his ears. 

It’s just a firm, warm pressure, and then Luther straightens.

“How’s this?” he asks, and Justin grabs him round the hips.

“Yeah, let’s see,” Justin says, and leans up. This time there’s more heat, Justin’s tongue sliding into John’s mouth, John’s hands pulling him closer.

“You never said anything,” John says, not letting him go.

“What was I gonna say, John? When would have been a good time to say, oi, boss, I’d do anythi--”

Luther kisses him, rough and controlled, insistent. Justin shivers, then, as John pushes him down on the couch. He drops a hand down to Justin’s chest and then shoves his shirt up, exposing the ugly cut of scars.

He lingers on the brand, a white, raised square of skin that was burned off. Justin moans, quiet, and Luther spends a second just staring down at him, running his thumbs over it.

“I knew you’d figure it out,” Justin says. “If you didn’t come for me, that meant you were expecting me to do it, that you _trusted_ me to do it.”

Luther cups his face and they kiss again, this one slow, a little sloppy, and Justin holds onto his muscular arms. 

“Justin,” says Gwen, and there she is, at Justin’s knees, Watson trotting up to his other side.

“Gwenllian,” he says, careful with the Welsh. 

She tilts her head and Justin lets his hand hover for a moment.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and Watson presses his head against Justin’s knee.

“Of course,” she says, and he pets her, her fur wonderful under his hands.

Luther shivers.

“You know this is a bad idea,” he says, voice low and wrecked.

Gwen purrs, a rumble that Justin can finally feel with his body. 

“You’ve taught me well enough that I do,” Justin says.

“Alright,” Luther says, leaning over again. “Okay,” he says, lips right against Justin’s lips as they meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by Squilf's HDM AU: The Terrible Things We Do For Love: http://archiveofourown.org/works/871327. 
> 
> Title from "Nobody Dies" by Thao & the Get Down Stay Down: http://genius.com/Thao-and-the-get-down-stay-down-nobody-dies-lyrics
> 
> I hope you like this and it's not too too angsty! <3 I was so excited when I saw you wanted Luther and were into His Dark Materials AUs, and I hope this is what you meant.


End file.
